


Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?

by Seiya234



Series: Transcendence AU [14]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Transcendence, Gen, Transcendence AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 16:23:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6994942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seiya234/pseuds/Seiya234
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, Miss Willow Pines meets the ghosts of her family's past and has one hell of a dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?

Everything around her was grey. The waving grass, the sky, the small copse of pine trees (and single apple tree) in the distance, the carpet she was laying on over the ground, the sun and butterflies… everything was blessedly drained of color, and she existed only in a world of shades and tints. 

It felt like a balm upon her soul, and Willow felt herself begin to relax at last. 

Ever since Uncle Dipper had saved her life when she had Auriga, her Sight had begun to grow stronger with each passing day. Stronger and- she ground the heels of her palms into her eyes- harder to control. Every day it took longer and longer for her to construct the mental shields that kept the majority of others’ auras out of her head. 

Every day those shields seemed to crack and break easier and easier, no matter what she and Uncle Dipper did. 

She curled up into as small as a ball as she could on her blanket. Here she was no one’s mother, no one’s daughter, no one’s sister, no one’s niece. No one’s protector. Here she was only Willow, and here she could freak out as much as she liked about the slow dissolution of her way of life. She tried to focus on the designs woven into the rug, how they sharpened in detail near her body and faded away as they went to the edge.

(how it was growing harder and harder to hold on to her self, her being, harder to keep herself being washed away by the people around her)

Willow wasn’t usually one to wallow in self pity but a tear trickled out of the corner of her eye. Uncle Dipper had no idea what to do, no matter how much he lied to her that he was sure he’d come up with something. She wasn’t scared of death but the destruction of her mind, of everything that made her  _her_ -

“Oi, what’re you doing laying on that rug? That thing could be filthy for all you know.”

Willow shot up.

There was a woman standing next to her, a bright blur of color in her calm grey world.  Willow’s uncle was the ruler of the Dreamscape, had told her and her brother and sister secrets about his realm that he even hadn’t told her mother. It was how all three of them were able to lucid dream, for example. Dreams on the whole were supposed to be inviolate, the brain erecting a powerful barrier to protect itself while it rested. Uncle Dipper might be able to get in, the occasional strong magician, but even they were rare. Your dreams were just you and whoever your brain created. Yet Willow knew to her bone that the woman in front of her was not a figment of her imagination but  _real._  Her hair was done in a large bun, though large parts of it were falling out of the bun and falling down past her shoulders. Her makeup was heavy, almost caked on, and yet on her it worked. Her dress was the color of a blood orange, she clinked and jangled with the massive amount of jewelry on her, and- Willow sniffed. She absolutely reeked of cheap cigarettes and cheaper alcohol.

And yet the woman didn’t drag like nails on a chalkboard on her senses. She felt….familiar, somehow, something in the look of her eyes, a chin that was like her siblings’…

“Who are you and um, no offense, but why are you in my dream?”

Hands on her hips, the woman looked around her. She reached in between her cleavage and drew out both a cigarette and lighter. She lit the cigarette and deftly tucked the lighter back in her décolletage. She took a big drag and with a poof of smoke said, “I’m Sheila. And gotta say, not surprised this is a dream. I was wondering what all this grey shit was?”

Calm, she needed to stay calm, calm like she was before this woman came and interrupted the one moment of peace she was able to get in her day,  _calm_ -

Coolly, Willow said, “I appreciate the grey shit, thank you very much.”

Sheila laughed, deep and throaty.

“Got some spunk in ya girlie. Just like my Stanley.”

Stanley. Stanley, the chin, the surety in her bones that she  _knew_  this person somehow and-

“What’s your last name?”

Sheila grinned. “Never thought you’d ask. It’s Pines.” She inhaled and blew out a heart shaped smoke ring. “I’m you’re great-great-great-great, wait, no, fuck, too many greats right there, shit.” Sheila closed her eyes for a second, thinking, and then opened them again. “Great-great grandmother. Stan and Ford’s Ma-“

“And Grandma Shermie’s,” Willow finished for her. Grandma Shermie had died when they were two or three, but Grunkle Stan had told her some stories about his older sister who had left home at seventeen with a kid in her belly and a one way bus ticket in her hand.

“Wow.” Willow paused. “ _Wow._  How on earth did you get in my dream? You’ve been dead since-um, well, you’ve been dead for a while.”

Sheila shrugged.

“Fuck if I know. Ever since I’ve started trying to drink myself to death, I’ve been wandering around. Past, present, back, forth, side to side… I’ve seen some crazy shit, I can tell you that.”

“I…wait. Did you just say you’ve been trying to ‘drink yourself to death’? That’s both horrible and surprisingly candid.”

The cigarette in Sheila’s fingers died, but with a scowl from Sheila relit itself. “Yeah, well, when I put it like that, I guess you’re right, it does sound bad.” She snorted. “Should have known you can’t lie here. Not even to yourself.”

Willow’s face still must have looked dejected so Sheila went on. “Hey, don’t worry girlie, I’m fine. This is a lot more fun than spending time with my old man.” She paused. “Maybe if I can get back home in time I can ‘accidentally’ puke on him. Been awhile since I’ve done that; not since I switched gins.” She blew out another puff of smoke. “I’m hoping to ruin his best suit one of these days; you know that asshole never takes off his suits? Like even in the evening?”

Willow shrugged. “For what it’s worth, Stan takes his suit off when he’s done with work.”

“He dress sharp then?”

“Yeah, though not so much these last few years.” Thoughts of Grunkle Stan and the hour it took him to wrestle into his suits even though he was retired and she was running the Library now and no,  _no_  not now not here not with-

“I can tell what you’re thinking kiddo.” Sheila flicked off some ash. “Well I mean not  _really_  but close enough. I mean you’re a grown woman who’s doing good shit, I get that, but you also get this constipated look on your face when you’re thinking about stuff you think is going to upset me.”

Damnit, Grunkle Stan and Uncle Dipper had warned her about her tells before.

Sheila finished her cigarette, and fished in her bra for another, pulling out this time however a fat Cuban cigar. She started to inhale but then she paused.

“Grunkle eh? That’s what you call my Stanley?”

“Yeah. Mom said that’s what he told her and Uncle Dipper to call him when they came the first time. It’s short for ‘Great-Uncle.’”

“Dipper…” Sheila’s eyes flashed yellow for a second, her skin as well taking on a jaundiced tone. “Oh.  _That_  one.” She shook her head. “So my Stanley is still with you?”

Willow smiled, though it hurt to do so. Stan was so  _old_. “Yes, he is.” She closed her eyes because even in her sleep she could access the fire that ran in her veins, the pathways that had been burnt into her brain. “He’s downstairs watching my daughter, Auriga, right now.” Willow frowned. “ _And_  watching something completely inappropriate for her age with her, damnit Stan-“

“Auriga?”

Willow blushed. “Look, I think it’s pretty and it makes sense, I promise and… wait, you know what, I’m not going to defend that, you named your kids Shermaine, Stanley and Stanford.”

Sheila shrugged. “My brother was named Sherman and a better man I’ve never known.” She blew out a smoke ring. “The twins names are all on Fil. Asshole named my babies when I was passed out.”

Willow tried to imagine someone else naming her daughter. ‘Auriga’ because star names were becoming a theme thing in their family and she wanted to beat Uncle Dipper to the punch, ‘Auriga’ the charioteer, driver of her own destiny. Olivia for the girl she met when she was 24, the girl she wasn’t able to save, the girl that only she and a few other people and the government knew about. The Name that Dipper had gifted her daughter, the name only he and her daughter would ever know. To have all that taken away from her….

“I’m sorry.”

Sheila shrugged. “Don’t be. It’s done and over with now. Besides I gotta admit, I wasn’t going to do much better.”

“Oh?”

“I was thinking Shermark and Shermatt. Thought it was cute.”

Willow opened her mouth. Willow remembered that Mom seriously was going to name Hank ‘Forrest Pines.’ Willow shut her mouth again.

“Hey mind if I sit down kiddo? I’m tired of looking down at you and I’m sure you got a crick in your neck.”

“Of course-wait.” Willow waved her hand and the rug she had been lying on was replaced by two dark grey La-Z-Boys. “Okay now you can.”

Sheila sat down with a satisfied sigh. Her eyes flashed gold blood and blue fire again. “That grandson of mine taught you some tricks. That’s good. Tricks keep you sharp, keep you alive.” She looked down at the empty cup holder. “Think you can manage a drink too? Gin and tonic, light on the tonic.”

“I don’t think that’s wise-”

A glass poofed into existence. Sheila grabbed it and drained the tumbler in one go. She wiped her mouth off, and then burped. “Much better. Thanks for the trick darling, that’s a good one to keep in mind.”

Willow must have looked upset, because Sheila laughed.

“You got to get that stick out of your ass honey. Let loose, relax a little!” The tumbler refilled. “Besides, I’m pretty sure dream alcohol isn’t going to really do anything to me.”

The fire in her veins was hot, so dreadfully hot, and Willow dug her fingers into the armrests of her chair. Calm, she needed to stay  _calm_.

“Some of us can’t afford to let go like that Sheila.”

Sheila stabbed a fire engine red nail in Willow’s direction. “And you need to stop taking yourself so fucking seriously. Jesus Christ kid get laid or something _.”_

Willow froze, and her stomach churned, part with disgust but mostly with anger. Sheila didn’t know, how could she have known? And yet Willow knew if she opened her mouth right now she would burn that stupid beehive hairdo off of her grandmother’s head, burn dream flesh to the bone and  _no_ -

A snap and a nail file appeared in Sheila’s hands. She started to file her nails as she went on. “You’re  _boring_  darling.” She waved the file to indicate the waving grass, the flocks of butterflies, the grey sky with drifting clouds. “ _This_  is your idea of fun? Seriously? It’s a total snoozefest I tell you. Heh. Snoozefest.”

Willow still said nothing. 

“Come on kid, lighten up, let loose!” Sheila peered at Willow skeptically. “What, do you think you’re better than me? Than everyone around you?”

“I don’t think that; please don’t put words in my mouth.”

Sheila rolled her eyes. “ _Sure_  you don’t-“

The dam inside of her that held her anger broke (broke like the shields she tried to erect every morning) and Willow erupted. 

“You know what happened the first time I ‘let loose?’ I killed a woman. Well, not quite. First I hollowed out her brain, her soul, then I arranged for her to die.”

The nail file dropped from Sheila’s hands and fell in her lap.

“I have a little girl who depends on me. I have an uncle to take care of, I have parents to help. I run my own business at day and at night I get whisked to places covered in blood to deal with murderers and worse.”

“I didn’t mean-“

Little puffs of flames were coming out of Willow’s fingertips, her mouth, her ears now but she didn’t care.

“You know why everything here is grey? Why I’m just lying in a field? Because everything else  _hurts_! Because this is the only fucking time of day I can relax. This is the only time I don’t have to be on guard! And then you come in and you have the audacity to judge me? Here, in my mind?”

Now Sheila was starting to get mad, Willow could tell by the red aura around her like a halo and fucking fantastic, even here she wasn’t free.

“You watch your mouth missy, I didn’t ask to come here I just did-“

“Yeah, because you’re drinking yourself to death, I remember. This is the place where lies die remember?”

The red went from bright cherry to deep arterial blood. Sheila folded her arms, looked down her nose at Willow, and sniffed.

“Who’s judging who again Miss Thing?”

Willow’s vision went white for a second, and the only sound she could hear was the rushing of blood in her ears.

“And who let their children suffer?” she asked. Willow didn’t recognize her own voice. It felt like she was only a mouthpiece for someone else, someone arising from the deep, dark parts of her soul. “Who let their children be thrown out on to the streets? Who let one be privileged over the other two?”

“I-“

“Who failed all three of them Sheila?” Willow purred. “Who was it that did that?”

Sheila said nothing.

Willow turned away and let her world break down around them. She was done here. She was going to wake up sleepy and miserable but she didn’t care. “Don’t speak to me about responsibility when you can’t accept it for your own actions.”

She felt her brain begin to stir into wakefulness when a voice in her ear whispered, “You’re right. I did fail them.”

Willow gasped as it felt like something seized in her head and she fell with a rush back into her dream. This time they were on a beach, the sand littered with little glass pebbles. There was a boardwalk in the distance with a little town surrounding it, but here it was only her and Sheila, the sand and the water.

It was all still blessedly grey, except for Sheila, who was looking out onto the ocean.

“My Ma was like you, you know.” As Willow got closer, she could see that Sheila had lit another cigarette and was taking deep drags on it, trying to suck as much smoke into her lungs as she could. “So was her Ma, and her Ma’s great-aunt, and that aunt’s aunt, and her Ma-“Willow must have looked confused because Sheila just shook her head and said. “I’ll write it down, figure out how to get it to you in the future. But that’s not what I meant to say.”

A drink appeared in Sheila’s hand, though this time instead of a glass it was a small bottle of gin, all niceties gone in this place.

“When I brought Fil, your great-great-grandfather, over the first time, she told me he would be the end of me.” She looked at the bottle of gin in her hand and snorted. “That I would never know another true day of happiness again if I stayed with him, that he’d leave me nothing but ashes and pain.”

Sheila laughed, low and ugly. “When you’re seventeen and you’re in love for the first time, when he’s popped your cherry and he popped it  _good,_  you ain’t listening to your Ma. Even though you know she’s always right.”

Willow plopped down on the sand, let the water tickle her bare feet as the surf came in. “So what did you do?”

“Told her that she was a withered old crone that I didn’t have to listen to any more, flipped her off, and ran out to Fil’s car. Think we knocked over her mailbox too on the way out.”

Sheila sat down next to Willow, a little bit of sand puffing up around her. She thought for a second, and then a hand snuck out and grabbed Willow’s wrist.

“ _You…_ you and your Ma-“

Willow shook her head. “Never. Not even close.”

“Good.” She let go of Willow’s hands, and drew her knees up to her chest, an odd gesture to see on someone Sheila’s age.

“That was the last time I saw my Ma,” Sheila said, talking into her knees, not looking at Willow at all. “Last time I talked to her. She died seven years after that, and I had been too damn proud to give her a call. Didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.” She sighed. “Didn’t want to admit that she had been right. Two days after I left we had our first argument and Fil called me- Well. Ain’t none of your business the details.”

“And then you had Grunkle Stan.”

“And Ford and Shermie…. Though I’m guessing you didn’t know them very well.” She ground her butt out into the sand.

“No, not really.”

They drifted into silence for a minute or two, the only sound the sea rushing in and out again, brushing their feet as it did.

“I lost all three of them, that night. Well, Ford was still with me but after  _that_ night, well.” She laughed, an ugly hateful sound.

Willow started. “But, I thought Grandma Shermie was already gone. Grunkle Stan told us she went to California when she found out she was pregnant.”

“Wow, seriously, that’s all Stan told you?” Sheila whistled despite herself. “Shit.” She shook herself and then went on.

“Your great-grandma…damn, my little Merm, a grandma. Anyway, she did do that, that’s true. Told us she got pregnant, and then two days later she was gone.” A swig of gin. “She left before he made her leave.” Another swig of gin. “I asked her to come home, when she had Mark. My first grandson. I wanted to see him. Wanted to see my Merm. And I thought… I thought the baby would make things better. Would make everything okay.”

Willow looked at her grandmother. It was like watching wave after wave of poison pour out of the older woman, a well that didn’t seem to run dry.

Sheila’s eyes were locked on the ocean now, watching the water come in, fall away, come in again.

“My baby, my youngest. He took so long coming out, you know? Thought he wasn’t going to be okay. Fil yelled at him, and I said nothing. Packed his bag and pocketed the little wad Stan had been saving and I said nothing. He threw my Stan, my free spirit out, and I was frozen, and I said  _nothing_.”

The air had grown cold, cold enough to make Willow begin to shiver. This was her dream, her space, but she wasn’t in control anymore, only along for the ride. Until Sheila had finished purging herself of this.

 “I said nothing and Ford said nothing and your grandfather wouldn’t stop crying in my arms and we said nothing.” A cigarette appeared in her fingers and Sheila took a deep drag off of it.

“And then Shermie came in. She was loud for me, loud for Ford.” Another drag. “She shouldn’t have been the one to have to do that. I was the adult, I was her mother but…. I couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe that Fil did that to our boy. Couldn’t believe I let him do it.”

She flicked the cigarette butt into the ocean. “Worse fucking night of my life and yet I never felt so proud. She really gave it to our old man you know? Used dirty words even I never heard before. He held his hand up to hit her and she just stood there. Didn’t flinch or anything. Told him everything I should have said. Told him he should be ashamed of himself, told him he was a coward, a shit father…. and Fil.”

Her hands clenched into fists at the memory. “Just had this fucking smug look on his face. He didn’t care. Didn’t care about our boy. Didn’t care about our girl. Didn’t care about our grandson. They didn’t do anything worthwhile in his eyes so they could all go fuck themselves. He didn’t even have the guts to say it. Just let Merm yell until she wound down… She looked at me. She looked at me like she used to when she came in with a skinned knee or told me about the first girl she kissed. Looked at me like I could make everything better but-“

This time it was the gin bottle that went sailing out into the grey ocean. “I just fucking stood there. I stood there and I watched her crumble. She took Mark, packed her bags, and twenty minutes later she was out of the door too.”

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t talk, couldn’t move. What could she say to comfort the woman next to her? Should Willow even try? Everything about this was so foreign to her experiences and yet this was where she came from, where her siblings and Mom and Uncle Dipper and Stan, oh my god,  _Stan_.

When Sheila spoke again her voice was calm, toneless, cold. “You know what he said to me after she left? The first thing he said to me all night?”

The waves slowed, stilled, stopped until the ocean was like a pond, a lake. Ice began to creep across it, starting from the far off horizon but rapidly coming to shore. Every grain of sand touching Willow’s skin felt like a dagger cutting her to the quick.

“He looked me in the eye and smirked, looked me in the eye and said-“

The world went black around Willow but she wasn’t Willow any more, wasn’t sitting on a beach in a dream with a woman long dead no. She  _was_  Sheila and-

“Well.” Hot breath that smelt like cigars and cavities and way too much fish. “At least one kid isn’t a complete fucking waste.”

Her heart (no,  _their_  heart) was tearing into three and burning into ash a pain she (they) felt from the pit of their stomach to the bile rising in their throat. She wanted to scream until the house fell down, rip and rend at their hair and clothes, wanted to lie down and die because she had lost her children, her joy her solace, the one fucking reason for living for staying and-

Fil still stood there with that stupid fucking smirk on his face, so smug, so goddamn proud, so sure she’d roll over and submit to him. Fil, so sure of himself, so proud for destroying their family, Fil and that look she they wanted to wipe off his face-

Fire burned cold in their veins, so terribly cold (and was it hers or was it  _hers_? She couldn’t tell anymore, just like she wasn’t sure which she  _she_  really was.) She opened their Eye on purpose for the first time ever, seeking the truth for once rather than letting it drip into her ear. There was a dragon, a banshee, a mother screaming inside of her, clawing their way up her throat, and they welcomed it, welcomed the pain.

They pointed a finger at Filbrick.

“You’re going to die alone.”

His face flickered for the slightest second but the smirk soon fastened back in place. “Sheila, don’t you lie to my face, you know what i taught you about that-”

The fire blazed and she laughed in his face. There was nothing he could do to them now, nothing worse than what had just happened.

“You’re going to die alone.”

A tiny crack in the facade. “No, you can’t know that.”

Like all her really bad spells, she felt like they were in the grip of some cold unknowable force, a mere mouthpiece or puppet. But this time they welcomed it, this time she let herself be used. She was the Oracle the Pythia (what the shit was that? Who was thinking that- it wasn’t her) and they let the truth run through them and exit through their mouth.

“You’re 85 and you’re on an oxygen tank at the home from smoking and the nurse hasn’t come in a few hours because she hates your ass and you take one last breath-“

“I’ll… I’ll… I’ll stop smoking-“

“You’re 77 and there’s a lump in your stomach and a lump in your guts and a lump in your cock because you didn’t listen to me when I said you should get that checked out but I’m dead and now you’re about to be-“

“Is that what this is about? For fuck’s sake Sheila I’ll go to the goddamn doctor if it will shut you  _up_ -“

They were cold. So very cold.

“You’re a hundred, congrats on reaching a hundred asshole. You’re a hundred and you’ve called for your daughter but she doesn’t take your calls, she remembers the last three times she tried to reach out to you. Your grandson is a stranger, your sons are dead, and you look at the wall and you can’t breathe-“

“I-“ All his bluster had gone now, and his fear tasted good on their tongue (that wasn’t her or  _her_  that was someone else but it didn’t matter now-)

She laughed again and it was bile and poison on their tongue and they felt ill and she didn’t care because for once Filbrick was going to hurt like he had hurt their children like she  _hurt-_

“No matter what you do, no matter how you try to change, every road ends with you, in a bed, scared,  _alone_.”

“You’re lying,” but it wasn’t said with his usual heat and conviction.

“Yeah, I am a bit. There’s one way to prevent this.”

“What?”

“Apologize. Call our boy back, call our girl back, fuck, ten fifteen years from now do that even. They’re good, they’re so much better than we are, they’ll jump at your stupid fucking voice even though they shouldn’t-“

His face, which had begun to open up under her onslaught, went cold and dark, shut down, just like she thought, knew he would, and it felt like her heart was dying all over again.

She could have gone on. Could have described the hundreds of deliciously deserved lonely deaths he would have. But weighing on their mind was the one where he apologized, the one where he reached out to their children, the one where everything was maybe not exactly okay but it was  _right_ -

The one that would never happen.

Her victory was ashes in their mouth they felt sick she needed a drink-

And Willow woke up.

Well, not quite. She was still on a grey beach, with a grey sky and grey waves slapping against their feet (no, no longer  _they_  she was blessedly alone in her head now-)

She was wrapped up in softness and the scent of cigarettes and gin and cheap perfume applied by the gallon and-

“Sheila?”

“Shh, you shush now. I didn’t mean… I didn’t want….” Sheila’s voice shook. “You should have never seen that.”

Sheila had pulled Willow’s head on to her lap and was stroking her hair, like Mom used to do-still did, to be honest, even though Willow was ridiculously too tall to be on her lap. It still was nice, felt nice, to have her grandma (well, great-great grandmother if you were being pedantic) to take care of her.

“It’s okay,” Willow finally managed to croak out. Was that what it felt like when Uncle Dipper possessed Mom? Did he have that weird need-to-scrub-my-brain-out feeling in his mouth after?

“Last good moment of my life, that moment. Even then it wasn’t that great.” She looked at the gin bottle, replenished and full again, propped in the sand next to them. “Started to drift a month or two later so-“Sheila reached over, and uncapped the bottle. “Been doing a whole lot of this.”

“How long ago was that for you?”

“Bout eight or nine years now. Me and Merm talk on the phone, but she refuses to come to New Jersey until Fil apologizes, and since I’m not doing the psychic thing any more, we don’t got money for a bus ticket out.” Sheila rolled the bottle between her hands. “I’m lucky if I get two words out of Ford when I call and Stan…I can see him. I can  _See_  him but he doesn’t got a phone, he keeps moving and I… I can’t  _find_  him.” The older woman wiped at her nose with the bottle in her hand.

“At least they’re out, and free, for all the good it does them.” Another drink. “It’s too late for me but I can take comfort that they’re going to be alright, in the end. I’ve Seen it.” Another gulp and that was the third, fourth?- Willow had lost count- Sheila had drained, another bottle tossed in the ocean.

“I shouldn’t complain,” Sheila went on. “I got a roof over my head, I scared the shit out of Fil enough that he buys me all the gin I want and tries to stay as far away from me in the house as possible.”

Another gin bottle appeared between the two of them but at Willow’s slightly pained look, it disappeared, and a cigarette appeared in Sheila’s hands instead.

“I failed them. Failed my girl, failed my boys, failed my children. They needed a mom not some two bit fake psychic who lies for a living. Fuck, don’t even do that anymore.” Sheila sighed. “My Ma was right. I do deserve that man.”

The fire which had died down to banked embers in her veins flared up again.

“Um, what the fuck? No? You don’t?”

“Kid, you’re being sweet and I appreciate it but-”

Willow shook her head. “Don’t blow me off Sheila. I listened to you now you listen to me.”

The older woman raised her eyebrows but waited for Willow to go on.

“I’m not going to lie; you could have done more for them. But this, all this, this isn’t on your shoulders. No one deserves to be treated like your husband treats you, treated Grunkle Stan and them. If… If we’re going to place blame and point fingers then the majority of this mess, of this pain, it’s on Filbrick.”

“But-”

Willow shook her head. “No. You don’t own his mistakes, he does. If this is the way your life goes, you should at least have this weight gone from your soul.”

Sheila said nothing, but the raspiness of her breathing told Willow everything.

“You loved them Sheila. You gave them everything you had and-”

“It wasn’t enough,” the other woman said, voice drained of bitterness, of anger, of everything.

Willow thought of the tough old broad Grandpa Mark had told them about, all the shenanigans his mother had gotten into when she was raising him. Thought about redemption and forgiveness found at the end of the world.

She reached out and took Sheila’s hand, so frail, in hers.

“No, you didn’t.”

She took Sheila’s hand and showed her Stan having tea with her and Hank, showed Stan doing his best to help her with her homework, showed Stan letting her and Acacia paint his nails. Stan, standing slouched but proud in front of her as he warded off a ghoul. Stan making dinner for the three of them and maybe it was beanie weenies with stray Stan hairs in but it was made with love all the same.

Tricks. She had shown Sheila her tricks and inadvertently, her grandmother had shown her a trick  as well. Willow took a deep breath and squeezed Sheila’s hand harder and felt something in her brain jump track (knew that a trickle of blood was coming out of her nose, her eyes and it was nothing to worry about but-) felt things misfire and then rewire, felt her brain change with this trick.

But it was worth it (it was necessary) to show Sheila Stan with Tío Soos when he was little. Show Stan welcoming a demon into his home, Stan standing for her mom and uncle when no one else would. Stan offering Aunt Wendy a job, Stan and Ford reunited at last.

Sheila was crying and so was she (-a wet red streak on her face and Grunkle Stan had come to check on her and was calling for Dipper-) but it was okay it was

She squeezed Sheila’s hand. “It was worth it.”

Sheila smiled and this time it was true and pure, untainted by self-doubt or hate, aura shining bright in Willow’s Sight.

“You’re pretty good kiddo. Than-”

The ocean began to boil and steam away, while the sky erupted with fire. Willow felt on the edges of her consciousness someone familiar and loved, something grand and terrible, power that beat like a drum in the air, gloved hands shaking her shoulders-

“Is that my grandson?” Sheila asked irritably, flickering as Uncle Dipper woke Willow up. “He’s kind of being a tit right now.”

There was a storm entering her mind, wild fury and fear and love and a fire that matched the flames that flowed in her veins. Fire that could scour the Earth to its bone, fire that would relight the universe-

“Yeah, he kind of doesn’t know the meaning of subtlety,” Willow agreed.

Sheila frowned. “Tough shit to him; we aren’t done here.” Her right arm shot straight out, her hand clutched one second at nothing and the next second she had Uncle Dipper by the scruff of his neck, fluffy brown hair tufting through her fingers.

“What,” Willow said.

“What,” Dipper said.

Even though Uncle Dipper was a few inches taller than Sheila, she effortlessly held him, pulling him around to look him in the eye.

“She’s fine you doofus. She’ll wake up once we are done talking. Now get!”

With that Sheila drew back a foot and kicked Uncle Dipper in the ass, sending him sailing towards the flaming sky, where he quickly poofed from sight.

(A flash and Dipper went sailing across her bedroom, crashing hard enough to leave a dent in the wall-)

Sheila dusted her hands off as the landscape melted and reformed into the fields of waving grass, the grey butterflies and grey sky and two waiting La-Z-Boys sitting on top of an intricate grey rug. Willow gratefully sat with a thunk in one of them, with Sheila folding more gracefully into the other’s embrace. A wave of her hand and it was filled with a steaming coffee cup. She pointed at Willow. “Close your mouth girl before a bird flies in there.”

“I… You… how? Uncle Dipper is a demon.” She waved her hands. “A dream demon!”

Sheila snorted and her eyes flashed yellow and black for a second. “And I’m the great-grandmother of a demon. It’ll be a cold day in hell before one of my kids gets one over on me.” She took a slurp of coffee. “But enough about me. Let’s talk about you.”

Willow stiffened which was ridiculous it wasn’t like she was in trouble or anything. “What about me?”

Sheila pulled the lever on the side of the recliner and sat back with a loud clunk. “You’ve had some cowboys in here kiddo.”

Willow shook her head. “No I haven’t.” No one had entered her mind without her say so since Ms. Lilly… and now Sheila, if she was being literal.

“Your uncle.”

“No! No he’s not, he’d never…No!”

“Calm your tits girl. Didn’t say he meant bad but-” Sheila sniffed. “He’s not exactly graceful. Left his tracks all over this place.”

The grass around Willow was unbent. “What tracks?”

Sheila snapped and suddenly the waving grass was bent and torn and burnt, paths straight and circular pushed through the field, deep ruts and furrows carved into the ground.

“How-” Willow’s voice shook. “How didn’t I see this?” How had her control slipped so badly, what else wasn’t she seeing-

“It’s like looking for your glasses on your face. Hard to see something-”

Sheila paused. “Willow, your chair is on fire.”

Willow looked down. “Yes. Yes it is.”

Sheila sighed and waved a hand, the fire dying down as she did so.

“So what does all this-” Willow gestured at the ruined landscape of her mind “-mean?”

“First off, I don’t ever want to hear you call yourself ‘ruined’ again. That’s bullshit and you know it”

“But-”

“Would you ever tell someone else that?”

Willow blushed beet red and Sheila nodded sagely before going on.

“But yeah, with this mess in here it’s no wonder you’re having trouble!” Willow had a flash of an apartment that was kept immaculate, even between the cigarette smoke and clutter. “How on earth are you keeping your curtains drawn?”

“My what?”

“Your curtains! Your blinds?”

Willow still must have been looking confused because Sheila groaned and said “You know? The stuff that keeps you in and everyone out? Sheesh kiddo I know you’ve got to have something like that I passed them on the way here-”

“Oh! My shields you mean?”

Sheila grimaced. “Sounds like something from one of Ford’s issues of Asimov. Kind of geeky.”

Willow couldn’t help but smile. “Well, Uncle Dipper is pretty geeky too.”

“Speaking of geeky-” They still were in the field with the butterflies and recliners but now in the distance, surrounding them in a ring, was the ocean, grey waves lapping against grey sand. Willow tried to see if there was something on the horizon but after a certain point it was ocean as far out as she could see.

The older woman rubbed a knuckle between her eyes. “Ugh, bear with me kid, I really hate talking about this shit it’s so…. It’s so…”

“Personal?”

“Really fucking goofy sounding.”

Willow fought to keep the grin from her face. Sheila sounded just like Grunkle Stan did when Willow talked to him about her Sight. “I promise not to hold it against you.”

Perhaps some mirth had escaped after all because her grandmother sniffed before going on. She pointed her coffee mug at the ring of earth and water around them.

“Your problem is that you’re the sand on that beach when you need to be the ocean.”

“Um. Okay.” Willow had no idea where Sheila was going with this but the look on her grandmother’s face dared her to say anything else so she remained silent.

“The beach- the sand and shit- that’s all earth yeah? And you can’t mess with earth, its firm and unmoving and steady and a bunch of other stuff right?”

Willow nodded.

“But I’ve read some of Ford’s science books when my stories weren’t on and like, you know every year the ocean eats away at the beach? its crazy sounding I know, but it’s true.”

They both now were looking on the crash of water onto the sand.

“Every year,” and was there a deeper timbre to Sheila’s voice now? “The water creeps further and further inland, devouring it bit by bit.” Sheila grabbed Willow’s hand and it was cold, so very terribly cold.

“You, my daughter, are the ocean. You are the warm water near the surface, the surface you show the world, true.” Sheila’s hand squeezed hers tighter, to the point of pain. “But you are also the dark, the depths, never ending, all encompassing.”

Willow was caught now in Sheila’s gaze. Goosebumps covered her from head to toe, and frost covered the waving grass, weighing it down low to the ground. The butterflies were huddling around her legs, huddling around her warmth.

Sheila leaned in close, too close, and there was nothing in her grandmother’s eyes, nothing at all. “Let your mind bring your enemy in. And then drown them.” Her breath was hot gin cold coffee on Willow’s face and she felt her heart beat way too fast. “Eat them up.”

“I… I’m not sure if I should, if that’s wise-“

A flash of swirling rainbow in Sheila’s eyes. “Just do it.”

Willow closed her eyes, but kept the swirling ocean in her mind.

She imagined the shields around her mind that first Uncle Dipper had taught her to put up, then Ms. Lilly.

Imagined them being slowly but surely being eaten away by the rush of the water in and out against the beach, the slap of surf on the sand.

And now she was naked and if she were awake she would probably be freaking the fuck out but-

Ocean.

Waves.

Water.

Breathe in and the water sucks back from the shore, pulled out towards the horizon.

Breathe out and flow with the wave over the sand, over the pebbles and the small beads of glass, eating everything in her wake.

Why should a barrier be something hard and inflexible? A shield that couldn’t bend couldn’t move was ultimately brittle. Breakable.

No. Better to flow and move, to be the water the ocean-

A snap in front of her face and Willow barely held back a scream.

“Oh good you came out of la-la land. Another minute and I was going to throw my drink on you.”

Willow scowled. “Jeez thanks. Besides, weren’t you the one wanting me to make a new shield in the first place?”

Sheila waved her off. “Yeah well I wasn’t all there kiddo; if I was I wouldn’t have been saying all that mumbledygook. But that’s not the reason I snapped you out of it.” Sheila pointed up to the sky, which was beginning to gracefully crack and fracture, exposing void black as it fell away. “I think you’re waking up.”

Willow sighed. “Probably for the best. Stan and Auriga get into…. shenanigans if I leave the two of them alone for too long.” She looked at Sheila and felt her heart pang.

“I… thank you. Thank you so much.”

Sheila smiled, perhaps the softest Willow had seen her face since the ghost had first barged her way into her dream. “Don’t sweat it kiddo. Couldn’t have a granddaughter of mine bumbling around and making me look bad.”

Willow stood up and walked over to Sheila, grabbing her in a big bear hug. The other woman stiffened in Willow’s arms for a second, as if it had been a long time since she had been touched like that. But then her arms wrapped around Willow, and together the two of them stood in an embrace.

She inhaled the scent of cigarettes and gin and cheap bleach. “I don’t want you to go Sheila.”

Sheila reached up as best she could to stroke Willow’s hair. “I know bubbe but you got your own life to live and it’s a good one, I can tell.” She pulled away from Willow and smiled. “You should relax. Take that girlie of yours to a beach sometime.”

“I will.”

Everything became fuzzy, growing out of focus, and Willow struggled to hold on for a second a minute longer. Sheila began to walk away, stepping into the ocean. The water enveloped her ankles, her knees, her thighs-

She stopped, turned to look back at Willow.

“Hey, you.”

“Yeah?”

“If you ever need me-“

Sheila snapped and next to Willow’s La-Z-Boy appeared a bright red telephone, in a style that was old even when Willow’s mom was born. It sat midair, supported by nothing at all.

“-give me a call.”

“But you- you’re not- I mean not here or at least here for you but-“ Willow pinched her nose. “Sheila that’s not possible.”

Sheila barked out a laugh and turned away, walking deeper and deeper into the ocean.

“We’re Pines kiddo! We make the impossible happen!” As her head disappeared under the waves, Willow heard “Give my boy a hug for me wilya?”

And then Willow woke up.

 


End file.
